


Counting Stars

by Xuchilbara



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-22
Updated: 2014-03-08
Packaged: 2018-01-13 09:31:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1221265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xuchilbara/pseuds/Xuchilbara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To be quite honest, this is the first thing I've honestly bothered with posting anywhere - Usually stuff just gets canned, but I promised someone I'd at least try to get up the nerve to upload it, So here goes. It's basically inspired (At least one or two later scenes are) by - You guessed it - the song. (Which I, funnily enough, am not actually all that big on. I just had an idea after I heard it on the radio.) Original, Am I right? Bahahaha. Either way - It's been fun to be getting back into the swing of writing, And I hope you'll enjoy the random crap Jean and Marco'll get up to in sharing an apartment together.</p><p> Here's the Jean with the prologue~</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

* * *

 

_" Lately I been, I been losing sleep_  
 _Dreaming about the things that we could be_  
 _But baby, I been, I been prayin' hard_  
 _Said no more counting dollars_  
 _We'll be counting stars_  
 _Yeah, we'll be counting stars "_

                                     - ONEREPUBLIC "Counting Stars"

 

* * *

 

  Groaning in frustration, Jean Kirchstein leaned back in his computer chair, rubbing his eyes as though doing so hard enough would bring back all of the time he’d invested in looking for an apartment that morning. Commuting to the university was out of the question – there was no way in _hell_ he was paying to fill the gas tank each and every time he went to school. The only reasonable alternative left to him would be to use a bit of the money he’d saved to rent an apartment close to it, and pray to god that he wouldn’t have to go hungry just to keep a roof over his head.

  He reached out to grip the handle of his coffee mug, absent mindedly running a hand through his two-toned hair. He brought the mug to his lips, which recoiled into a scowl when they met the now-cold liquid, his eyes darting down as though the drink had personally victimized him in not staying at least tolerably lukewarm. Jean begrudgingly ventured a small gulp, putting down the thing before he swallowed, a rather theatrical expression and shiver coming over him as he did.

  Once Jean had composed himself enough, he leant forward to squint at the monitor of his laptop, chewing his lower lip as he clicked the refresh button expectantly on one of the many open windows. He perked up some when he noticed a pair of ads that hadn’t been there last he’d check, which, according to the clock, had been at least a couple of hours ago for this specific site. The past two people he’d called from Craigslist hadn’t sounded all that great – one sounded intent on selling and/or involving him in the drug trade, and the other sounded like some kind of silver-tongued murderer with a weird taste for college guys.

  Clicking the newer of the two, Jean paused to read the rather small entry before he closed the tab in complete, unbridled annoyance, a heavy sigh lifting his shoulders. It _had_ been an ad for an amazing one bedroom apartment well within his price range, and reasonably close to the university, but it was _also_ for a couple that were currently overseas helping the less fortunate, which sent one very large, very discouraging red flag. _‘I swear, it’s like they get off on getting people’s hopes up, Jesus fuck Christ.’_  His mind’s irate voice came, deftly clicking when the cursor came to rest over the address bar. In his annoyance, he dismissed the other ad as spam, opting instead to open some music and lean his head in his palm, fingers tapping out a rhythm on his cheek bone. He rested like that for a few minutes, the song winding down, and the indignation in his chest subsiding with it like it always did.

  Jean opened the site again, running through the listings for any single bedroom apartments that’d been overlooked in his first sweeps. In truth, Jean really didn’t like people all that much – and they never seemed to like him either. Even when he tried to befriend people, they usually ended up getting off on the wrong foot, making things a bit more awkward and strained than they needed to be. Suffice to say he wasn’t a friendless recluse with a penchant for ruining friendships – he just felt that he couldn’t get as close to them as he’d like to, since a majority already had established a group of friends, which left him feeling a bit left out in the end, even if they were kind.

  Scrolling back to the top of the page in one keyboard stroke, Jean clicked refresh again, not really expecting there to be anything new that had been posted. When the dim light of his computer screen confirmed that there wasn’t, he bit the bullet and clicked the only other link that he hadn’t. The ad title read simply – **_‘Roommate Wanted”_** , but what caught Jean’s attention were a pair of facts that became readily apparent while reading it: One was, to his feigned dismay, that no foreign prince was willing to save him absurd amounts of money on rent any time soon, and two, that the ad itself was so surprisingly well written and concise that he honestly began contemplating responding to it.

  The location suited his needs well enough, and the half of the rent that he would be paying was certainly manageable. His eyes flicked to the bottom of the ad, and as his mind read the words, he found his lips mouthing them unconsciously: _‘If interested, please call Marco at XXX – XXX – XXXX.’_ Whoever ‘ _Marco’_ was, he at least had one thing going for him, and that was the fact that he seemed to have a good head on his shoulders, which, on Craigslist, was a godsend in and of itself.

  He eyed the clock for the first time that entire morning, now seriously debating whether he should call or not; living with someone _still_ sounded like it was more trouble than it was worth. _‘What’s the harm in calling, though? You’re out of options, and this sounds real enough.’_ His mind droned, his body leaning back in the creaking chair after highlighting the phone number. _‘And besides, if you get some kind of psycho murderer vibe, you hang up. No big deal.’_ He crossed his arms dejectedly, still quite bitter over the fact that his only viable option at this point was having to share space with someone he didn’t, and probably wouldn’t care to know. “Just fucking do it.” His raspy voice came in disuse, grabbing his cellphone from atop a messy pile of papers on the desk.

  He triple checked the numbers after dialing them, and hesitated for a brief moment before pressing send, bringing it to his ear, where his pulse was pounding away. As it rang, he found himself hoping that it would go to voicemail, index finger tapping the back of the phone right up until the moment it stopped ringing.  He almost hadn’t noticed.

 “Hello?” The gentle voice came from the other end suddenly, throwing him off his though processes rather effectively. “Oh,” He coughed after a moment, sputtering a bit as he choked on a bit of spit. “Shit, Sorry, I – Uh – I saw the ad on Craigslist – the one for the roommate, and I was wondering about whether you, you know, still needed one.” The moment the words left his mouth, two very important pieces of information clicked into place: One, the ad was still new, so the odds that he’d managed to screen a new roommate were rather miniscule, and two, he wasn’t even sure he was _talking_ to the aforementioned Marco. Before he even said another word, he heard a quiet, almost stifled chuckle from the other end of the line that annoyed him – he didn’t like people laughing at him, even if it was well deserved. “Yes, I still need one, but before I go into it, though, I’d just like to ask you a couple of questions so we don’t waste each other’s time. Would that be alright with you?”

  Jean’s lips pressed into a hard line, only parting for a moment to say “Yeah, that’s fine.” before Marco, or at least who Jean had assumed to be, spoke up again.

“Question one. Would you be able to pay the _entire_ month’s rent if I asked you to?”

  It came so simply that his mind honestly thought he’d misheard him for a fraction of a second. _‘What the fuck?! If he **asked** me to? What kind of question is that?’ _It barked, His mouth opening a few seconds before he even decided on what to say, and how precisely to word it. “That really depends, I guess – Are you asking me to _now_? Hypothetically, I could pay the month and still be comfortable. It’s still a bit of a weird question, though.”

  Another chuckle, as if on cue, far less stifled this time. “No, no, you wouldn’t have to pay the entire thing – it’s just a hypothetical that lets me make sure you’d still have enough for food and whatever else, so you pass that one.”

  Jean found himself quietly hoping that he really wouldn’t have to pay each month’s rent, otherwise he really might be going hungry after all. “Cool! So – Uh, Question two, then?” He started fiddling with a key chain, still blankly staring at his computer screen.

“Aaaaand, Question two: Do you have stable work currently, or will you be able to support your half of the rent with money you’ve saved _while_ you look for work?”  
  
“I actually have work lined up in town for when I move out there, so I’d say it should be stable enough.” Jean waited for the response, now clenching the keychain in his hand, stomach both knotted, as well as somehow miraculously still able to simultaneously do kick flips into his throat.

“Sounds good. If you’d like, I could meet with you after I get off work, which will be around… 12:30? That sound alright? We can discuss details and kind of feel each other out.” Even through the phone, Jean could tell there was some kind of smile there – but whether it held an ulterior motive wasn’t as apparent.

“Sweet, yeah, that’s fine by me. Where did you want to meet?”

“There’s a Starbucks just down the street from the school. Do you know where it is? If not, we could just meet at the school and walk over.”

“No, Yeah, I totally know where it is. I’m a night owl, so I kind of have a mental map of where they all are coded into my DNA.” Jean chuckled, and the knot in his stomach loosened when he heard the voice chuckle in response, only this time, he felt, with him.

“It’s settled then. I’ll see you at 12:30! Nice talking to you–Uh–?” The voice trailed off, obviously expecting Jean to pick up with his own, which he did with enthusiasm to spare. He sure as shit wasn’t going to let the opportunity slip through his fingers. Not now.  
  
“Jean! Sorry, I should’ve said my name from the get-go. Your name was… Marco, Right?”

“Marco, Yes! Very nice talking to you, Jean. See you then.”

“Likewise. See you soon.”  

  The moment he pressed the end button, he breathed a heavy sigh of relief, chancing a cocky smirk as his hand loosened around the keychain. He’d managed to get his foot in the door, and that was something he could be proud about. Palm up, he threw the key chain into the air with the full intention of catching it, right up until it glanced off his palm and sank into his coffee mug with a quiet _tink_ as it hit the bottom.

“Fuck.” He muttered under his breath, scooping up the cup and glaring into the liquid.


	2. Frankenbitch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean finds out that reading people isn't his forte.
> 
> Update: 5/22/2014 - I just got a new computer so expect an update relatively soon. Massive apologies for the delay. ; u ;

* * *

_" She's just a devil woman_  
 _With evil on her mind_  
 _Beware the devil woman_  
 _She's gonna get you_  
 _She's just a devil woman_  
 _With evil on her mind_  
 _Beware the devil woman_  
 _She's gonna get you from behind "_

-Cliff Richard "Devil Woman"

 

* * *

 

 

The quiet chime of the door being pulled open roused Jean from his almost entirely withdrawn state, one hand gripping his coffee, the other nestled cozily into the pocket of his pullover for warmth. The woman that stepped through the door with an influx of chilled air most certainly wasn’t, and wouldn’t be Marco. His eyes moved from the woman in question to the clock, then back as he took a small sip of his drink, relishing the feeling of warmth that came over him immediately. As he put the cup down, Jean eyed the people in line, a majority of whom looked ridiculous, bundled up as they were. The woman who’d only just walked in already looked a bit flustered and miffed at the prospect of having to wait for her precious fix of caffeine, which he couldn’t blame her for; she had bags under her eyes that could only be described as designer. What he _could_ blame her for, however, was the fact that she wasn’t even trying to feign patience, shifting her weight from one red heel to the other as people made their orders and shuffled along to wait for their drinks. He let go of his cup, and shoved his hand into the other side of the pocket, leaning back and bracing himself a bit for the cold rush that followed a person leaving.

In his opinion, the cold sucked, and there was nothing anyone could probably say that would make him think otherwise. People who thought that freezing half to death while trying to do anything productive was better than the latter were people that he did _not_ want to share space with. Jean simultaneously yawned and stretched, shaking all over as he did. _‘Stupid fucking cold. My nose is frozen. Marco better make this worth it.’_ His mind hissed in an annoyed tone, bringing the cup of steaming liquid to his lips without even bothering to blow on it preemptively.

The door chimed again, announcing the arrival of a couple who took their place behind the woman who was now second in the queue, their arms and gloved fingers linked together almost unnecessarily. In that moment, he stopped to wonder how all these people might look when they weren’t dressed for warmth, pulling the cup from his lips in thought. The only answer that he came up with was that they’d probably be trying to make some statement about being ‘better than thou’, which honestly made him want to laugh since most of them probably weren’t. He was pretty damn awesome, so that was hard to do.

Cup still to his lips, he found himself smirking, taking small sips until the person in front of the blonde woman in the office clothes removed themselves from between her and the cashier. The moment he saw her enter he had just _known_ that her order would probably be unnecessarily specific, confident that his people-reading skills were refined enough to be trusted. When she ordered something tame by comparison, however, he was both disheartened as well as pleasantly surprised to hear it. The bald-headed kid in the visor seemed to be overjoyed at having come to the same revelation, flying through the process in virtually no time at all. The only thing Jean took notice of in her order was that it had peppermint in it, which honestly didn’t sound half bad at this point. He passed the thing off to her so she could run along to whatever high-powered career she probably had waiting for her, smiling the entire time.

Putting down the cup and leaning on his elbows, he sighed deeply, glancing at his phone. He rubbed his eyes with one hand, noting that it was still five or so minutes shy of 12:30, so he might not even be able to _expect_ Marco for a while. Whether or not Marco was a punctual person wasn’t a thought that had crossed his mind when he’d made it a point to try and be there at _exactly_ 12:30, so the prospect of having to wait for indefinite amount of time annoyed him a bit. But not nearly as much as what happened next. He looked over to the couple who had before seemed rather friendly, scowling now.

The woman was, to put it politely, bitching the poor guy out as he struggled to piece together her annoyingly specific order, clearly dragging his feet a bit as she rang out instructions like he wasn’t capable of doing it himself. Once he was done, he pushed the drink into her waiting hand, looking a bit worried as she brought the straw to her pursed lips. Seemingly without fail, she scowled and deemed that the drink unfit for human consumption, even though she insisted on sucking the thing down in such a way that suggested she actually thought the opposite.

 _‘Fantastic, you’ve got your frankendrink, movie star, now leave em’ alone and get the hell out of here already.’_ Even if his mouth made no move to speak, he was intent on at least defending the poor kid in his mind. Gaze wandering from the girl to the barista in question, Jean shook his head as he caught his eye, the other offering a shrug and a rather comical interpretation of her face as she’d ordered when their backs were turned. At least he had a sense of humor about the situation; it probably wasn’t the first time he’d have dealt with someone like that. The door chimed again, and Jean felt his shoulders relax when the woman, boyfriend in tow, stomped out.

When the breeze lingered for a few seconds longer than usual, he cursed under his breath.

  _’Greaaaat, another idiot who’s probably too busy staring at their phone to realize that they’re giving us all hypothermia by standing in the doorway deciding whether or not they want to come in.’_

He looked up from his drink and sure enough, one single guy filed through the door after an old woman, pulling out his phone almost immediately upon entering the line. He was rather well dressed, and that left Jean wondering just who or _what_ warranted the effort on this _obviously_ important guy’s choice in clothing.

  _‘What if he **only** dressed up like that to come get coffee, I mean – he kind of looksnerdy.’ _

He snickered to himself, and downed whatever was left of the coffee before it, too, followed its predecessor’s lead and became too cold to bother with.

_‘I feel sort of bad, if that’s the case. Putting on a pea coat and coordinating your clothes just to look like you have somewhere to be.’_

The boy glanced up, pocketing his phone and scanning the room as though he was curious about the people who hadn’t chosen to brave the cold outside. Jean did his best to look engaged on his phone when he looked in his direction, the chime announcing the departure of the old woman, but not quite preparing him for what came next.

“Polo!!” The cry came, making Jean jump involuntarily, turning his head to look as the others in the shop were. The barista from before had been the one, the all-too-proud-of-himself grin still on his face. The guy in the pea coat apparently knew him, but that wasn’t what caught Jean’s attention and surprised him the most.

 “Connie, why do you have to – people are staring. Oh my god.” He turned, hands up defensively as he apologized. “I’m really sorry for him, everyone!” Marco’s voice sounded a fair bit different than it had on the phone, and Jean wasn’t quite sure just _what_ he’d expected in terms of how he looked.

Marco’s cheeks were pink in embarrassment, both dusted in freckles that even went along the bridge of his nose. His hair was neatly parted in the middle, which left Jean feeling as though calling him nerdy was at least _somewhat_ deserved, and probably at least, in part, true. Here he’d been mocking him only moments before, and the only thought that stuck out in his mind now was: _‘Well, at least he doesn’t **look** like a douchebag.’ _ He couldn’t yet comment on his personality, so he made it a point to pay closer attention as Marco ordered his Caramel Mocha over the counter, debating just _when_ he should approach him. He shoved his hands in into the pocket of his sweatshirt, twiddling his thumbs as he watched Connie breezing through making it. Stealing small glimpses over at Marco, Jean came to the realization that he’d been sitting on a perfect excuse to at least walk _by_ him so he could strike up conversation the entire time. Gripping the empty cup in his right hand, Jean turned in his chair and got up, moving to throw it into the barrel while he considered just how to approach the conversation. Looking out to the parking lot, he mulled over his options quickly before he took in a shakey breath, turning and closing the distance between himself and his potential roommate as his discomfort in the situation gripped his stomach. Jean’s hand reached out instinctively to tap his shoulder, then dropped uncertainly, his mouth trying in its stead.

“Marco…?”

Marco turned, blinking a couple of times as though he was attempting to register Jean’s face, which clearly wasn’t possible.  
  
“You’re Marco, right..? From the ad. It’s Jean.”

 When at first Marco made no attempt to speak, Jean felt a pang of panic shoot through him, sending his mind scurrying for the abort and self-destruct buttons simultaneously. After a moment of awkward silence, Marco’s eyes lit up as he nodded enthusiastically, pointing to the cup in Jean’s hand that he hadn’t realized he was still holding.  
  
“John! Yeah! Hey, nice to see you. Sorry it took me a second there – the face was where I was drawing a blank.” He chuckled, pointing hand withdrawing as he did.

“John?” Jean drew the cup up to eye level for the first time, eyes darkening as his mind made out the letters **J – O – H – N** on the thing. He shook his head to himself, laughing softly as he moved his cup-bearing hand to his side, holding it by the brim. “No, No, _Jean_ , like the French name.”  
  
“Like Jean Valjean?” Marco quipped, retrieving his drink from where the barista – Connie, had left it only moments prior.

“Jean Valwhonow?” Jean quirked a brow and cocked his head to the side, hoping that he hadn’t severely offended Marco by not catching the reference. It sounded familiar, he admitted, but he wasn’t quite sure just where it’d come from. He’d hopefully be able to pry the answer out of Marco later if he remembered to ask, though there were probably far more important questions that’d come first. 

If he was offended, Marco gave no indication, simply laughing to himself as he tore the paper wrappings from the straw, pressing one end against the counter until it slid down from the opposite end in one piece. As he turned, Jean took notice of another simple fact – Marco was taller than him, which he didn’t mind at all, honestly, he just would’ve thought Marco to be better suited to a shorter stature.

“So,” Marco spoke up through sips of his drink, smiling faintly as he did. “Wanna grab a seat?”

Nodding, Jean turned and made his way back to his seat, turning himself to sit diagonally with one arm resting on the table as the dark haired boy took the place opposite him with his chilled drink.  
  
“Isn’t it a bit cold for Icy drinks?” Jean asked after a moment, shivering at even the thought of holding the thing in his hand for half a second.

“Not at all! It’s my favorite.” Marco apparently had been, or still was somewhat close friends with Connie, because along the side of his drink read ‘ **POLO** ’ in obnoxiously large letters. He made a note to ask him about that, too, though he wasn’t quite sure if there was more to the joke than just the game itself. “So,” He began abruptly, breaking Jean’s focus on a very particular bead of condensation just above where Marco’s hand had wiped the rest away. He hadn’t even realized he was staring. He averted his gaze, moving his left hand into his pocket to fiddle with the lanyard on his keys as he did.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jean saw him take a sip of his drink, arms crossed on the table and leaning in surprisingly comfortably. “Are you going to be taking classes at the University?”

“Oh – Uh, yeah. I’m not really sure what I want to take, or really _do_ for that matter, so, I’ll probably just be taking random stuff until I get a better idea.” The entire time he spoke, Jean felt two brown eyes looking him over, probably tearing _him_ apart as he’d been doing only moments before. He probably deserved that for calling him nerdy so incredibly prematurely, but he still felt a bit uncomfortable in the situation. Clearing his throat, he turned his head before continuing: “What about you?”

Marco was smiling, and Jean gave him a sheepish one in response, though he wasn’t entirely sure why. “I have a couple of ideas that I’ve been mulling over, and a couple of others as fallbacks, but other than that we’re in the same boat. He stirred his drink with his straw, focusing on _it_ now.

Jean glanced at the word ‘ **POLO** ’ again, then at the menu above Connie’s head while he sought out what to say next. After about a minute of silence, he half-smirked, turning in his seat to face a very curious Marco who glanced up as Jean began. “Hey, Marco, serious question.” He couldn’t help but grin.  
  
“Mm?” Marco had clearly been taken by surprise, because he’d been mid sip before Jean had turned.

“Do you know how much the average polar bear weighs?” His grin had been traded for a smug smirk in its stead. For a moment, Marco looked questioningly at him, brows furrowed in confusion.

“Uh… No…?”

“Enough to break the ice!” He chuckled and felt a small wave of relief as the other boy joined in rather loudly, warranting a dirty look or two from the other arrogant assholes line. 

“I walked right into that one. I should’ve known better, especially knowing him – “He motioned to Connie quickly as he spoke. “ – for as long as I have.” He was still smiling, even shaking his head as his mind replayed what had just happened, blowing air out of his nose in short bursts that suggested he was still laughing a bit on the inside. He took a small sip of his drink as Jean, still smiling broadly, adjusted himself in his chair.

Marco sat back now, running his hand through his dark hair, which seemed to fall back into its perfect place effortlessly. Jean quirked a brow when Marco made an almost laughably serious face, sipping his drink in thought as he spoke. “Tell me about yourself,” He offered while putting the drink back on the table, tapping his fingers against the side rhythmically. Jean blinked a few times, both not quite knowing just where to begin, as well as just not really coming up with anything worthy of mention. “About me? I’m really not all that interesting, I guess – Pretty boring, actually. Do you have anything you’re especially curious about?” It was an annoying response, answering a question with a question, but Marco only took a second before specifying, much to his delight.

“What abouuuuut… A relationship? Do you have one?”

Jean shrugged involuntarily and shook his head No, glancing back at Marco’s face momentarily before he looked back at his drink. He realized that things felt ever so slightly warmer as a result of no one having left in what seemed like a long while. Marco had almost seemed a bit worried that the question had upset him, because he piped up with another question almost immediately. Jean made it a point to smile to reassure him that he wasn’t, though he _himself_ wasn’t quite sure how he felt about the question.

“Have any hobbies?”

His mind mulled over the default options as Marco sipped his drink and looked around, large seemingly innocent brown eyes darting to where Connie was. He must’ve mouthed and/or done something, because Marco frowned and shook his head in an almost disapproving way, eliciting a snicker from the out of sight barista.  
  
“I’ve been pretty into reading and watching T.V. recently, even if it is just movie marathons and stuff like that. I mess around with drawing sometimes, too, but it’s never anything that doesn’t look like a two year old drew it.” He snickered to himself quietly, placing his palm on top of John’s cup and shifting it from side to side as he made it “walk” A few steps before it slipped and bounced off the table, warranting a muttered curse as he leant down to retrieve it.

“I’m sure you’re better than you give yourself credit for!” Marco chimed as Jean slowly came back into view, half-smiling. Marco’s positivity was both infectious, as well as a fair bit comforting, prompting him to open his phone. He flicked through his photos, searching for any that he might’ve considered good enough to take pictures of. The entire time, to Jean’s delight, Marco seemed legitimately interested: pointing, even venturing guesses at who the women he’d drawn were before he had a chance to say.

“Out of curiosity, Why all girls? Do you just prefer drawing them for any reason? Like, are they easier to draw? Or…?” As he spoke, Jean’s lips pulled into an obnoxiously broad smile that persisted even as he began to speak.

“I dunno – I guess I just draw faces that interest me. Either for being attractive,” He theatrically presented his face, flipping his two-toned hair as he continued. “Or just – whatever or whoever I’m feeling like drawing at the time.” He shrugged again as Marco took one last look at an image of a woman pulling a veil away from her face before he nodded and drew his drink close, sipping.

This time, Marco’s mouth lingered on the straw long enough that Jean actually noticed the level drop noticeably in response. He shivered for Marco, who seemed unfazed by the long swig. The freckled boy’s eyebrows raised rather suddenly as though he realized he’d forgotten something, opening his mouth as Jean’s own brow’s moved to reflect his concern. “You alright? Brain freeze, or something?” Jean’s mouth moved into another smug smirk. _‘So he **can** feel it.’ _

“No,” _‘Damn.’_ “No, I just forgot to ask. Do you have any allergies? I have a Cat is why.”

“Not to cats specifically, No. Animals are pretty okay around me.” Just then, Jean shifted his leg and withdrew it when he felt it brush ever so fleetingly against Marco’s. It was surprisingly warm – as though the kid sitting across from him was actually a space heater, and not just some bundled up geek that was surprisingly easy to talk to. “Sorry,” He coughed, crossing his legs at his ankles under the chair to avoid the possibility of another purely accidental brush against Marco’s leg. Ruffling the back of his own head, he watched Marco zone out again, the ever lingering smile still on his lips, which left Jean wondering what he was thinking about before he decided to speak. “What about you? Hobbies?”

He waited a moment and soon realized that Marco was still somewhere else entirely, whatever smile there had been drifting off his face as Jean began to feel uneasy. He knew the feeling all too well, and that in and of itself was enough reason to warrant him calling out Marco’s name, not quite sure if he should try to tap him on the shoulder to get his attention off whatever was clearly bothering him. “You alright?” He asked as Marco turned, the somber expression melting away as though it’d never been there at all. From that moment on, Jean resolved to _not_ be presumptuous, or even jokingly rude to Marco anymore. Both because he couldn’t be quite sure just what Marco was dealing with, as well as the simple fact that he understood the feelings that could wipe a smile off your face the moment you looked away for any amount of time.

“Yeah, Sorry, I’ve just got a lot on my plate with school impending, work, and finding a new roommate. It… just tends to make me a bit anxious when I dwell on it.”

 _‘Well, hopefully you can help me help you by answering a few questions, such as: “Is Jean going to end up at the bottom of a well with lotion and a basket?”’_ He inhaled a bit more of the drink, eyes staring at Jean questioningly. Jean broke eye contact, even though the expression itself felt reassuring, warm, and downright friendly again. Marco’s drink was almost done, he noted, most of what was left being whipped cream that he began stirring idly. “Yeah, Any hobbies? Relationship?” He offered a few questions in the hopes that Marco would run with the ideas better than he had. 

He already within reason liked Marco, mostly because of the fact that he was easy to talk to. As he started talking, Jean made sure to stay as involved as Marco had been, expressing a particular interest in the fact that Marco liked baking and cooking, which was something they shared. Marco went on to pretty much explain the very same questions he’d asked Jean only moments before, pushing his finished drink away after a particularly enthusiastic story about nearly falling down the stairs that morning.

 _‘It worked!’_ His mind cheered as he leaned back, chair creaking almost unnoticeably. _‘You got his mind off whatever crap that was. Go Kirchstein!’_ He found himself grinning at Marco, who, he realized, had stopped talking, laughing nervously as he spoke.

“What? Do I have something on my face? Why are you grinning?”

He traded the grin for a simple smile and shook his head. “Nothing, Nothing. I’m just thinking of a joke.”

“Was it as horrible as your last one?”

“No,” His voice dripped with sarcasm as he played the part of a wounded person gaping. “All my jokes are golden, _thanks.”_ He smirked and Marco snickered in response, rolling his eyes theatrically.

“Gilded, more like.”  He deadpanned, looking over his shoulder as the door chimed again in response to being pushed or pulled.

 

* * *

 

 

Jean could have spent hours in that seat, and the fact that Marco seemed to feel the same way was almost comforting. He’d found someone who seemed to understand, even _accept_ his personality, which usually seemed hard for people to do. Marco had managed to probably get more out of him than even his oldest friends had, and that made the smile on his face damn near permanent.

 _“Marcooooooo,”_ An eerily familiar muffled voice whined from his pocket. It was Marco’s ring and/or text tone: one that was clearly meant to indicate just _who_ was calling by the voice that came out of it at the time. The queerness of the thing warranted a quirked brow from Jean’s side of the table as Marco pulled out the phone. He wasn’t quite sure just _why_ it sounded familiar, but he abandoned his search almost immediately, reasoning that it probably wasn’t anyone he knew regardless.

“Somethin’ wrong, Freckles?” He asked, using the nickname that he’d come up with after a conversation about how many people he’d honestly ever known with freckles. The only other one he could safely say had freckles would probably have killed him had he attempted to call her the very same, so he took the opportunity when it arose. Marco didn’t seem to care one way or the other.

“No, it’s just my roommate telling me he’s going to be home later than usual.”

“Roommate? Wait – Another? There’ll be _three_ of us?” Jean’s stomach turned unhappily, having only _just_ grown accustomed to the idea of living with someone else: Marco being about fifty percent _of_ that change of heart. He’d already decided that even if they opted _not_ to go forward with being roommates, Marco’s was one friendship that he was unwilling to let slip by, having felt more truly comfortable talking to him than anyone else in an almost boastful amount of time.  
  
“No worries,” Marco assured, thinking for a moment before he tapped out the response. “He’s moving in with a couple of friends that live around here. He already spends a bunch of time there, so I’m not surprised, but…” He pocketed his phone, glancing up at Jean. “I dunno, if I don’t really get someone in there quick, it could get a bit lonely, I guess.”

Jean blinked a couple of times before he opened his mouth, trying to figure out the most polite way of asking just how Marco felt about _him_ squarely in terms of being a roommate.  “Luckily, I don’t think you’ll have to wait all _that_ long for one to come around.” He said it with a legitimate smile, but Marco shot him a curious look, so it might as well have been a loaded one.

“Why?” He asked after a second or two. “Confident that you’ve already got the spot?” He said it in a way that suggested Jean should feel a bit concerned, and he was for a moment. He really hadn’t considered that there was any possibility of him _not_ being chosen after the rather lengthy conversation they’d shared. Marco’s tone suggested he was joking, so Jean shook his head to himself, elaborating.

“Funny, freckles, but No. You’re just a cool kid, an-“

“I’m older than _you._ ” He said it with a proud smirk.

“ _And,”_ He continued, clearing his throat. “Even though you’re a total nerd, you’re a cool guy. Anyone would be incredibly lucky to just be your _friend,_ let alone be your _roommate_.”

Marco raised his eyebrows theatrically as though he was honestly taken aback by Jean’s compliment; it was reasonable, considering they’d been joking around only moments before. His ears reddened a bit, a broad smile spreading across his lips when Jean made no move to add a snarky comment to the end.

“Well then Jean, it looks like this is your – How did you put it? _Incredibly_ lucky day?” Just then, Marco grinned knowingly, Jean feeling as though his word choice had been a bit too poor in the moment. He brooded on the word _incredible_ as his mind slowly went over Marco’s response, working up the courage to say something witty until suddenly,

It clicked.

He must’ve looked hysterical, because Marco started laughing the moment his face lit up. It was a warm sound, but Jean was far more excited by the fact that Marco had chosen him. _Him._

“Really?!” He said quickly as Marco straightened up in his chair.

“Well, You’d still need to say yes to the apartment, so, what do you say? Wanna go back to my place?” He added a wink that made Jean shake his head, grinning like a fool. He nodded.

 

* * *

 

 

Mentally preparing himself as Marco opened the door ahead of him, Jean buried the tip of his nose into the collar of his pullover.  “I walked, so I can’t really offer a ride, but we could walk over and I could drive you back if you don’t feel like wasting the gas on my account.” After speaking, Marco had turned to look at him, he himself looking as though he was suppressing a smile at what he saw when he did.

Giving no clear verbal answer, Jean simply showed him the keys in his hand, moving into the parking lot eagerly. The very moment the handle came into arm’s reach, he darted inside and turned the car on: the heater and seat warmers following quickly as Marco, chuckling, closed the passenger door.

“World’s best mom, Huh?” He said, pointing to the lanyard that hung from the ignition.

Too consumed with holding his hands near a vent, Jean shot him a playful glare. “Complete with the van, and it _still_ doesn’t do me justice.” He said it with an air of pride surrounding him. Just to his right, he heard the small _click_ of the seat belt. Glancing over, he gave a half-smirk that died to a pair of concerned brown eyes.

“You’re not being serio-“

“S’My mom’s!” He burst out laughing: It hadn’t even been something that Marco should’ve considered. “Ah, you should’ve seen your face! Christ.”

Marco blushed then, laughing awkwardly at his own gullibility. “W-Well how was I supposed to know that you were being serious?!” Jean shook his head, still grinning. “W-What? For all I knew you were living some kind of lifetime movie and I had no idea. I wasn’t gonna chance laughing and be a douche in doing so.”

“You’ll be happy to know that I don’t, then, huh?” Still leaning his head back against the headrest, he turned to look at Marco who nodded briefly in response, the blush virtually gone at this point.

“Aaaaaalright, Marco, Which way?” Jean gripped the wheel, smiling to himself as his foot pressed the gas pedal and Marco started directing him.

 

* * *

 

Pulling into the visitor’s parking space, Jean put the van in park, but made no move to turn off the engine. Quiet music filled the space, but from what he could tell, it was ending quickly. He rubbed the bridge of his nose as the other undid his seat belt, noting that an oddly familiar piano track was twinkling away, almost accompanying the shuffling sounds Marco was making.

The moment Jean came to the realization that he knew the song, his arm shot out to turn it up, moving to grip a very frightened Marco’s shoulder. Once he, too, came to the same stunning realization, their eyes met, singing the opening words in perfect unison.  
  
“Making my way down town – walking fast – faces pass, and I’m home bound!”

They sang the entirety of it at the top of their voices, smiling as they did. Each time the singer would trail off and the strings would replace her, they danced in their seats, stopping only to sing the next lines at each other while pointing. Soon, the song wound to a close, and Jean could only laugh in its wake, glad to have had a momentary reprieve of his problems. He shut off the car when the song gave way to commercials, grabbing the handle and pushing it open, Marco stepping out as he did.

He rifled through his pockets as Jean shivered next to him, holding the key to his – possibly _their_ – apartment in one hand. “Shall we?” He said, motioning for the entrance as Jean filed in behind him. Shamelessly using his – and he used the term loosely at this point – _friend_ as a buffer was decidedly one of the best ideas he could have come up with in the moment. When Marco opened a paned door for him, he stepped through and instantly felt relief in the form of his reddened nose being warmed. He withdrew his hands from their favorite pocket, rubbing his palm with his thumb. This time, when Marco came in, he followed close at his side and up the chronicled staircase, karma ensuring that he missed a step and nearly fell for laughing at Marco having almost done the same that morning.

“See? I told you these stairs have a taste for human flesh.” Marco said, withdrawing his hand when he was confident Jean wouldn’t fall. Jean looked down at the step in question, noticing for the first time what appeared to be water spread over his half of the step as well as a few others below it. He raised an eyebrow. Maybe someone had a mishap with a poorly sealed water bottle.

He nodded up to Marco and they continued through the door on the first landing, Jean sure to drag his feet a bit, as not to trail anything unwanted into the apartment he might soon occupy. _‘Least I won’t have to lug stuff up ten flights of stairs,’_ His mind celebrated the thought quietly as they passed the first couple of doors, his shoe back to relative normal. They passed room 103, and Jean unknowingly kept walking by the next, though Marco had already stopped short at 104.

“This one, Jean.” He called after him, flipping through his key ring a second before he turned it in the lock. Marco pushed open the door and flicked the switch on the inside of the door, waving him in. The moment Jean reached the edge of the frame, he peeked in just before he actually stepped across the threshold, moving in apprehensively. He found himself in a small hall that opened into what he could assume was a common and/or living room, a mirrored nook for the kitchen just beyond it. The only reason he could, in fact, tell that there _was_ a kitchen just beyond was because the light from the hall was reflecting off what he could only assume was an oven, but otherwise the room was in shadow. The door behind him closed, and the sound of keys being set on a table to the left of the door preceded Marco walking into view, unbuttoning his coat as he did.

His arm went out to the left when he moved to the mouth of the hall, a small flick of another switch sending light streaming out from the open room bridging the nooks. Jean managed a few tentative steps towards the opening, peering out from around the corner Marco had turned. He honestly had no idea why he was being so skittish, especially considering just how homely the place looked. A bit mismatched, for sure, but it looked comfortable, especially with the soft light from both overhead and a standing lamp in the corner. Marco had his coat slung over his forearm, smiling as he patted the love seat that sat in front of a TV that dwarfed it.

“Well?” He urged, looking around. “What do you think?”

His first (and only) complaint would have been that the place felt a bit small by comparison to what he was used to, but even that in and of itself was a sort of comfort. Cozy, even.

“It’s really well lit,” He observed, admiring the furnishings before he noticed a pair of doors on the wall closer to the entrance.

“Bathroom,” Marco said from beside him, nodding to the door closer to the entrance hall.

A bit more confident now, Jean didn’t hesitate when Marco opened the door to let him have a look. It was all fairly standard, and not unlike the one he had at home, which was a nice detail. It even smelled clean, like Windex or bleach, which told him Marco had obviously been cleaning right up until the moment he’d left for Starbucks.

“Looks really nice and clean,” He said, hoping to let Marco know that his efforts in cleaning hadn’t gone unnoticed or even unappreciated. “It’s kind of like my bathroom at home. Even the smell. I always have to clean it, so I’ve actually gotten pretty used to the smell of stuff like bleach. S’Weird that I probably like it a bit, but it’s better than the opposite.” He stepped out the door as Marco started laughing under his breath.

“Yeah, that’s for sure. But it’s good you do, though, ‘cause that just means we can split the work if you want to. As it stands, my roommate doesn’t often stay around, so the up keep falls to me and me alone.”

“No, yeah, that’s fine with. We can figure out how to divide the work later.” He nodded to himself, motioning to the door just to the left of the bathroom. “Bedroom?” He asked, glancing over to Marco who, smiling, nodded twice.

“My room.”

“Can I see? Or, uh, do you need to have to hide the crack pipe first?” He said it as he turned, worrying a bit when Marco’s face hardened noticeably. Either Jean’s concern was showing, Or Marco was having a hard time keeping a straight face, because he giggled to himself after a few seconds of silence, turning the handle.

“Douche.”

“That was for the bit in the car.”

He nudged Marco with his elbow before he got out of arm’s reach, the freckled boy acting as though the impact had broken his arm, rubbing it idly as he moved to the closet door. He retrieved a hanger as Jean scanned the room, noting the placement of the furniture and mentally going over how _he’d_ go about it. There was a small desk along one wall with enough space for a laptop and a book, the former found on the only slightly disturbed but otherwise perfectly made bed.

“Nice sheets,” He said, noting each of the mismatched bedding as Marco put his coat away. “Wish I had a set that matched, really. Then I could feel like I had my life together.” Marco laughed at that, and Jean joined him even though it was true.

“ _I_ only really have one matching set,” Marco confessed, ruffling the back of his head as though at a loss. “It’s in the wash, though.”

“Is the other room - ?”

“Yeah, it’s exactly the same, just flipped. I’d show you, but I don’t want to invade his privacy.”

“Nah, it’s fine. I understand.” Jean moved out of Marco’s bedroom, glancing around curiously. He felt like something was missing. And there was. Something, he’d soon realize, that was huge. Something that didn’t like him very much. He moved to the kitchen and found a water dish when he turned on the light, but, to his dismay, no cat to be found. He turned back to Marco, who was stretching and yawning, the simple black undershirt he was wearing bunching at the shoulders as he did. “You said you had a cat - ?” Came the question, the other boy glancing around the floor around him expectantly.

“Yeah, Sorry, He’s a bit shy. Fargield –“

“Fargield? What the hell kind of name is –“

“Switch the F and the G.”

Jean took a second as Marco got on his hands and knees to look under the love seat.

“Fargield…G…arfi- You can’t be serious!”

Jean’s reaction roused Marco from his attempts at coaxing the behemoth out from under the sofa, smiling proudly.

“Original, Isn’t it?” He said as he got up, dusting off his knees which showed no trace of dust or dirt at all.

“That’s _one_ word for it.” Jean muttered, shifting his weight a bit and toying with the lanyard. For a moment, the only sound was the quiet clanking of the keys filling the awkward silence between them. He checked his phone, making note of the time and number of missed calls.

“So, what do you say?” Marco asked suddenly, a sheepish smile spread across freckled cheeks. “Roomies?”

Jean thought about it seriously before he made even one move to speak, chewing his lip in thought for any reason to possibly _not_ say yes. Rather quickly, he came to the realization that he honestly _didn’t_ have a reason to, much to Marco’s visible delight.

He nodded solemnly, a smile of his own softening his expression.

“Roomies.” Jean affirmed.

 

* * *

  

The moment the door closed, Marco let out a heavy, relieved sigh that he felt he’d been holding since the moment they’d entered the building. Locking the door, he walked back and spread out on his bed contentedly. He yawned loudly, shutting his eyes quietly as he nuzzled into the one pillow that matched his comforter properly, still smiling as he went over the entire scenario of meeting his new roommate in his head. Eren would be home soon, more than likely. And when he finally was, Marco could tell him the good news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The name of this chapter is kind of a little inside joke with a friend about something I drew before I even started writing, even though it's somewhat applicable to that one chick with the annoying drink. Sorry if it offends anyone. Sorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorry. ; w ;


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